Chapter Eight
__________
Alessio
The idea of this happening never crossed anyone’s mind: not in the past, the present, or in the realms of endless possibility.
It was out of nowhere, so painfully unpredictable , to receive a text message outlining the next morning’s mission five minutes before midnight.
A day for closure, reconciliation, and acceptance.
Meryl and her husband had gotten into a volatile fight just before the message came in, which likely inspired the idea in the director’s head. Everyone watching the live feed saw how reprehensible the duo was when their voices bounced off the walls.
Their petty dispute triggered the trio’s discomfort, which led to the boiling point of whatever problems were festering in their triangular relationship.
Just like that, they all crumbled down, picked at insecurities, and brought up past mistakes.
The trio and the married couple were fine mere hours before, yet the tiniest stone caused a landslide of toxicity and tears.
Alessio could only imagine how monstrous the director’s smile was.
He had some idea of why they were fighting.
Meryl was unsatisfied with her husband being more emotionally available to his employees than he was to her. He was exhausted from the endless pressure of trying to keep up with her unrelenting spending spree.
Cosmo hated how his other male partner was too passive in their relationship. That was countered by the said man’s complaint about how he felt uncomfortable whenever Clara nagged him about recycling. Clara pointed her anger at Cosmo for always over-analyzing everything to the point she felt like he was dissecting her.
Alessio was not interested in the crux of their relationship, let alone knowing them as individuals. He was fine with not knowing anything about the people around him; he hardly knew his manager’s private life, and it took three years to learn he had a wife.
Marriage, he sat on the thought.
The idea had loomed over his head before, like a white cloud that drifted across the blue sky while he held her hand with a smile that shamed the sun above them.
It had turned gray as a defense mechanism, a stain somewhere in the back of his mind as a vein in his temple throbbed threateningly.
Marriage might not be a plan for the future, but without her, it wasn’t even a speck of a dusty concept.
“Anya, let’s go,” Meryl called out.
Anya’s shoulders jumped in surprise as she glanced at her friend. Meryl’s husband stood off to the side with a look of pitiful disgruntlement.
“You’d be amazed what talking can accomplish,” Anya said, her fingers slithering across his inner wrist as she began to drag him away.
Meryl looked like she wanted to throw that advice back at her, and Alessio was all for it because Anya sucked at communication.
The trio simultaneously looked at Anya as their voices talked over each other, offering to take his place or hers so they wouldn’t have to sit in the car with either of them.
Alessio pulled out his key fob, the crocheted animal dangling mockingly in their faces, and hovered his hand protectively over her head as she bent down to get into the car. He watched how she avoided their eyes with great effort not to get guilt-tripped into sitting in a car with them amid potential traffic to worsen the uncomfortable ride.
He closed the door, destroying their last efforts to plead with her, especially Meryl, who pulled out a bribe of Anya’s favorite snacks hidden in her jacket.
Alessio raised a brow at them before getting into the driver’s seat. He left them in the dust, mouth agape and affronted at his attitude.
“Was I too rude?” she asked from the passenger seat, fidgeting the hem of her jacket.
He took one hand off the wheel when a car passed in the other lane and pulled loose the burgundy scarf. With a flick of his wrist, it landed on her lap, and he told her to hold it for him.
“It needed more force,” he admitted.
He imagined himself in her position and likely would’ve added an insult or two. It was best to nip the problem in the bud and ensure they understood there was no room for persistence.
His propped-up phone showed the next left turn when the text came, firmly suggesting bringing up today’s mission somehow.
Ignoring the text, he eyed the time at the bottom of the map app, and there were at least twenty more minutes to their destination, where the director planned for everyone to gather for breakfast.
You better sleep with one eye. The next message came from an unknown number.
Anya's mortified chuckle betrayed her; the swipe she made on his phone had been far too self-assured.
“Meryl is just joking,” she defended her friend, “but maybe you should put a chair under your doorknob.”
Alessio muted the director’s contact at the red light, absolutely fed up with the nagging from the man and his never-ending requests for views.
Now, Anya’s phone was being blown up with short texts. He saw some from the corner of his eye while watching the flashing red countdown numbers.
“I wanted to give her a chance to talk to her husband. Love like that shouldn’t be left unresolved or could lead to a lifetime of regret.”
“Ah,” he voiced disdainfully. “You’re willing to give them a chance, is that right.”
Her lips twitched and wobbled as she gripped his scarf nervously on her lap. Grimacing, she rambled and tried to explain what she meant, but it only made the air tenser.
“This isn’t closure,” he said, firm like the way his knuckles turned white on the wheel, “nor reconciliation. Don’t even think about acceptance.”
She mumbled, defeated, “Then, what is this?”
“Us.”
* * *
The breakfast place was a quiet hidden gem favored by the locals.
Cameras were set up inside and outside the café, with the owner greeting them as she wiped her hands on her waist apron.
The trio took the outside table while Meryl and her husband sat closest to the register, leaving Anya and Alessio at the table next to the window.
A young man, no older than twenty, approached with the menu and a notepad for their orders. Alessio scanned the content briefly and gave his order, but Anya struggled to pick until she saw the poster next to the dart board.
The items weren’t listed on the menu, but the young man described the game she’d need to play to win one for free as part of their customer promotion.
A game of darts, he mulled, close enough to what he was good at.
He held out his hand for the dart in the middle of the explanation, and one immediately landed on his palm, the young man grinning ear to ear. He whispered that he was a big fan and asked if he could get a signature.
Alessio tossed the dart across the room and landed it perfectly in the center within seconds. While the onlookers were stunned, he grabbed the pen from the man’s hand and scribbled his name on the order pad.
“A man of action,” the young man muttered in awe before hurrying away with a red face.
“I could’ve done that.” Anya pouted, glancing back down at the menu.
“You have no aim,” he quipped truthfully.
She huffed and glared at the mirthful tug in the corner of his lips.
Their orders came relatively fast, much to his surprise. He didn’t touch his food but merely watched Anya try hers excitedly. The first taste furrowed her brows, the second chew made her pause, and the third bite, for certainty, caused destructive agony on her face.
She looked up with the fork trembling in her fingers, the same look she used to give him when she tried new food that her taste buds hated. A familiar plea arose on her face.
It wasn’t intentional, but the habit came from how much he spoiled her.
He swapped his untouched plate for hers, earning a grateful look from her in return.
A tingling sensation tickled the side of his head, and he followed it to find Meryl’s fiery sneer. She mouthed something, looking furious and no doubt thinking derogatory terms, but he merely turned his head away.
“So,” she murmured after a long pause. “How have you been?”
“Thought you didn’t like small talk,” he pointed out, his gaze drifting as the sun peeked through lumps of white clouds.
Perhaps even the director, watching the livestream, couldn’t stand the lackluster atmosphere at breakfast. Phones began ringing left and right, disrupting the café’s ambiance with no regard for the noise.
Now, a group date has been proposed. A demand of some sort.
Thoughts of spending time with a bunch of strangers made him want to break out with hives. Anya met his eyes over the table, a silent agreement of understanding, and they quietly finished breakfast.
Anya left first, claiming she was headed to the restroom, but she turned left under the red exit sign. He followed a minute later after paying for the food and disappeared around the same corner.
Her hair peeked over the curve of his car as she waited for him, loose strands swaying when she was startled by the door unlocking.
Her eyes glowed with what he hoped was the intimacy of their memories. His steps became longer, faster, and more demanding. They left in a mess of quiet laughter, whispered urgency, and secretive proximity.
Nobody came after them, and that was fine.
Alessio grew surprisingly comfortable with the idea of being live-streamed through the camera perched on his windshield.
“Is it too late to ask if we’ll be in trouble?” she questioned, tapping her finger on her phone screen with the enthusiasm of someone hitting the snooze button one too many times.
Rather than answering, he asked what she was doing on her phone instead of helping him find a place to go. They were in such a hurry that the next step eluded them.
“I’m reading the comments,” she countered, his scarf laying possessively over her lap. “They’re asking if you use 3-in-1 men's shampoo or turbo car cleaner because it’s so silky.”
She stared at his hair, squinting her gaze skeptically. His shampoo was the same brand she used years ago; it was easy to reach for and didn’t clog up space.
“And they’re telling you to touch it,” he noted.
Social media was predictable in some ways.
Anya’s lips twitched into an uneasy smile, and she confirmed it under her breath.
“It’s a red light,” he said, redirecting her attention back to him. “Do it while you can.”
She hardly gave it a second thought before sliding her fingers into his hair. The soft strands curled around them, and she sneakily ruffled them out of habit. He loved it when she caressed his hair while he lay on her lap, a movie playing in the background, and salty snacks spread across the coffee table.
Those peaceful evenings blurred beautifully in his memory.
“It’s really soft,” she concurred to the viewers, her cheeks flaring with redness. “And smells good.”
“I’m not a creep,” Anya protested after reading the comments, quietly grumbling about his unfairly luscious hair and how it naturally parted down the semi-middle. “I mean, just look at him. He looks like he smells good.”
She winced forcibly, seemingly aware of how bad that came out.
“Thank you,” he uttered plainly, which got him a shooing motion from her hand and told him to focus on driving.
They still don’t have a destination.
“He’s nicer with you.” She re-read that and threw an unconvincing scoff at him.
“Was it not obvious enough?” he asked, very baffled.
From day one, Alessio wanted everyone to know that Anya was someone special to him. He felt like he had done a great job. Compared to how others were at the receiving end of his crude tongue, she had been placed on a pedestal.
“I like you,” he said, all serious sincerity and resolute commitment.
Crimson colored her face, forcing her ears to absorb the heat, and Anya curled inward to make herself smaller. She sputtered helplessly, eventually giving up on justifying his confession as a joke to the camera.
Silence returned, not suffocating this time. There was a noticeable lift at the corner of his lips, and her blush lingered on the side of her ears as she mindlessly scrolled through the comments.
By the time Alessio realized it, they had driven a fair distance from the café, ending up at a campsite on the edge of town.
The air was fresher and quieter, with an autumn breeze nestling between amber leaves.
A break from the world helped clear his mind as he sat on the bench, appreciating the frosty air mingling with Anya’s laundry detergent. He wanted to press his face into her neck because that was what he used to do.
Before this, whatever this was. Before Christmas nicked a cut in their wholesome love, before the crash took away her parents and, in a way, took Anya from him.
Without warning, Anya broke the silence beside him. Her eyes stayed unwavering on the horizon of endless rooftops and wind turbines miles away.
“What if I was the kind of woman who takes your love and money?”
“You already do that.”
She laughed, beautiful and defeated, but still, she didn’t look at him. He wanted her to. The words were right in his throat, yet the serene smile on her lips lulled his yearning back to sleep.
“And if I wasn’t?”
“Perfect,” he indulged her, “I have both.”
He took off the scarf and wrapped it around her neck, cutting off her protest as he tucked the ends securely. Pride flooded his chest; it was about time it made its way back to its owner, and Alessio was honored to be the one to do it.
He’d kept it safe for years, so it was time for it to be of use again.
“You still have this,” she whispered, at peace and in admiration. “I assumed you threw out everything.”
“I kept them,” he disagreed, his tone firmer than the roots of the trees behind them. “All of it. Everything.”
She turned slightly, enough to look him in the eyes like he had only ever wanted, and smiled through the painful curve of her glimmering eyes.
Anya blinked slowly. “There’s a saying: middle part, crazy heart.”
There it was, the cowardice shining through her eyes— here is fine, love, no more.
She smiled wider, but she looked like she wanted to cry.
Deep down in his vile heart, Alessio knew that if this chance escaped, there wouldn’t be another until fate graciously pulled its strings years later, or maybe whichever lifetime after this one.
Maybe never, and this was the last of them. He didn’t believe in reincarnation or prayers of the universe. He believed in himself and what he could do now.
“I want to come home,” he wished to the distress in her eyes, the fragile smile on her quivering lips, and the kindling love in her voice.